


rather waste my time with you

by doctorkaitlyn



Series: tumblr fics & ficlets. [80]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Human, Concerts, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Sick Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-24
Updated: 2016-11-24
Packaged: 2018-09-01 14:26:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8628031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doctorkaitlyn/pseuds/doctorkaitlyn
Summary: Scott relaxes, leaning back against Stiles' chest. He's no less sweaty than anyone else packed into the room, but hints of his shampoo and deodorant still linger, and Stiles focuses on those, forces himself to take slow, steady breaths.It doesn't magically stop the room from spinning or stop his stomach from churning, but at the very least, it doesn't make him feel worse.(Or, the one where Stiles has a little bit too much to drink at a show and Scott helps him through it.)





	

**Author's Note:**

> written for Sciles Day on tumblr! title from the song [Blue and Yellow](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=O27mKsW0A0g) by The Used. 
> 
> also, minor emetophobia warning; no one actually throws up, but they think that they're about to a number of times.

Stiles is really regretting not shoving earplugs into his pockets before they left for the show. 

Thankfully, his ears aren't ringing yet; the room is simply too damn loud for that. The band is separated from him by twenty rows of thrashing fans and a barricade manned by burly security guards. Stacks of speakers flank the stage on either side, broadcasting rumbling bass and screeching guitars and throat shredding vocals. There's a small whirlwind of a mosh pit forming, falling apart, and reforming a few rows ahead of them. Stiles had been part of it for awhile, had lost himself for two songs in a tornado of pushing and shoving, but when he'd caught someone's elbow in the cheekbone, he'd had enough of that and pushed his way back through the crowd to try and find Scott. 

He thinks that he got out just in time. In addition to the spikes of sound attacking his ears, his other senses are also being tormented. There's perspiration running off him like a river, plastering his torn shirt to his back. The whole room stinks of sweat and spilled alcohol and it seems to be swaying slightly; not quite spinning, but definitely working up to that. Some of his disorientation is definitely from his exertion in the pit and the damn temperature of the room, but he thinks that the rest of it is from the beer he'd wasted nearly thirty-five bucks on. It seems to be churning in his stomach now, and he really hopes that he isn't going to throw up on anyone as he continues shoving his way towards the back of the expansive room, eyes sweeping the crowd for Scott.

He finally finds him off to one side, near one of the pillars holding up the balcony section of the venue hall, bouncing up and down slightly, head rocking to the beat of the song. Stiles buttonhooks around a clump of people and ends up approaching Scott from behind. His sensory overload is only intensifying; the lights seem too bright and the thud of the kick drum seems to be specifically targeting his stomach. His nausea just keeps growing, and the possibility of him throwing up on the floor, already tacky with spilled beer, seems eminent so as a last resort, once he finally makes it to Scott, he throws his arms around Scott's waist and buries his face into his neck. 

"It's just me!" he yells belatedly when Scott's back goes stiff straight. At that, Scott relaxes again, leaning back against Stiles' chest. He's no less sweaty than anyone else packed into the room, but hints of his shampoo and deodorant still linger, and Stiles focuses on those, forces himself to take slow, steady breaths.

It doesn't magically stop the room from spinning or stop his stomach from churning, but at the very least, it doesn't make him feel _worse._

"Are you alright?" Scott hollers back over his shoulders. The words almost end up swept away by the sound waves pummeling them. 

"I'm fine!" Stiles replies although, strictly speaking, that isn't exactly true. After taking another deep breath, he moves his face away from Scott's neck, in favor of tucking his sharp chin over Scott's shoulder. For a few minutes, he stays exactly where he is, swaying slightly with the music. Eventually, the band slows things down a little. The lights dip to a deep blue, and Stiles' pounding head thanks them. The strum of an acoustic guitar fills the room. It's one of Stiles' favorite songs by the band; it's a love song through and through, and the combination of the music and the atmosphere and the alcohol coursing through his system leads him to blurt out words that he's still getting used to being able to say so freely. 

"I love you." He tries to lean forward and press a kiss against Scott's cheek, but he's foiled when Scott turns around in the circle of his arms. There's a neon bright grin spread across his face, but as soon as his eyes meet Stiles', that grin sputters and disappears.

"Stiles, you look horrible," he says, eyes widening with concern. "Did something happen in the pit?"

"I just drank too much," Stiles says quickly, trying to defuse the worry creasing Scott's face. "I'll be okay, seriously." Right on time, the room starts spinning a little faster, and even though his arms are still around Scott's waist, he wobbles slightly. 

"We need to get you out of here," Scott says firmly, sliding his way out of Stiles' loose grip and taking his hand instead. "If you pass out and end up in the hospital again, Mom will _kill_ me." 

"That was _one time_ ," Stiles retorts, but he doesn't try to pull away from Scott's hand. He holds on tightly as Scott leads them out of the venue hall and into the lobby, which is thankfully empty aside from a few people picking up merch before the booth is swarmed at the end of the show. There's a concession stand off to one side of the room and Scott shells out ten dollars for a condensation dappled bottle of water and a protein bar that's probably going to taste like chocolate flavored chalk. While Stiles leans against the nearest wall and waits for Scott to finish the transaction, the sound of the crowd roaring drifts out into the lobby, and he momentarily feels a stab of regret that he's going to miss the last few songs of the night. 

But he'll live. Besides, he's sure they'll be back in town soon enough. If not, he'll just have to drag Scott on a road trip. 

Once Scott comes back, they move outside. It's a cool night, and the gentle breeze almost feels _too_ cold against Stiles' sweat dampened skin. There's a clump of people smoking right outside the entrance, flagrantly disobeying the half dozen signs telling them not to do exactly that, so Scott keeps moving down the street, his fingers still tight around Stiles'. Eventually, half a block away, they come across a stoop of a shop that's long since closed for the night, and Stiles gratefully sinks down to the rough concrete. His headache has lessened, but the ringing in his ears is only intensifying with each second that passes and his stomach still hasn't stopped churning. 

"Are you still dizzy?" Scott asks, joining him on the stoop. It's a tight fit; they're squeezed together from shoulder to hip to ankle, but Stiles doesn't mind. It's like having his arms around Scott's waist, only intensified. His wooziness is still present, but the points of contact with Scott make him feel grounded. 

"A little," he admits grudgingly. Scott twists the cap off the bottle of water and passes it to him. He resists the urge to down the whole thing, but just barely. Taking small sips, he manages to drink a third of the bottle over the next few moments, and while his stomach had been close to rejecting the first few drops, he is starting to feel a little stronger. Before he can even ask, Scott passes him the cap for the bottle and the protein bar. 

"Hey," Scott murmurs, voice so low that Stiles has to strain to hear him through the incessant ringing plaguing his eardrums. He drops his now free hand to the nape of Stiles' neck and smooths his thumb along Stiles' skin. "You know I love you too, right?" It takes Stiles a moment to realize that Scott's words are a response to his blurted declaration from earlier in the evening. Sighing contently, he twists his head and leans his forehead against Scott's shoulder. 

"Yeah," he replies, glancing at the protein bar and water in his hands before he closes his eyes. "I know."

**Author's Note:**

> as always, I can be found on [tumblr.](http://banshee-cheekbones.tumblr.com/) :)


End file.
